


Undone

by HowlingHooves



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Understanding, mutually beneficial relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:53:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6795622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowlingHooves/pseuds/HowlingHooves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He said nothing though, falling back into the times he himself sat in exactly her position; as a Turian duty always came before all, and while this made decisions easier to make the aftermath was never as clean cut. “Grief is a messy thing, Shepard. Let it be just that.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undone

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly AU, Raquel Addison Shepard and the Executor share a little time together in the aftermath of a botched mission. I'm not saying it was after Virmire, because it could be if you'd like it to be. It was just something I thought after having a rough time and dealing with some grief of my own.
> 
> The quote is something I told a friend a while ago, and he repeated the words back to me while I was trying to cope. So for all you out there struggling, don't be afraid to grieve. It's messy so happiness can be everything else. c:
> 
> Enjoy guys! Angst all around, because I'm good at it more often than not. Feel free to point out any mistakes, as I just go through things myself a couple times and may not catch everything.

“Time is a cruel thing.” The words dripped cold, empty, exhausted from tight lips and pale skin. Whispered as a ghost over bare arms, goosebumps rising unbidden as though a frozen gust pulled at her. Maroon hair, flat and straight and lacking the lustrous sheen he was so used to seeing, was pushed away from her face by stiff fingers, one wrapped against the other in blue tape tightly.

Turning to look over at the man, one eye sporting the telltale mark of a fight above the split lip and fresh gash over her cheekbone, she looked away just as quickly. “I'll leave, I didn't mean to intrude.” She muttered, turning away from the gurgle of water in the small pond, boots clapping softly and unevenly as she hoisted one hip just a little higher with each step.

“Who lost?” He rumbled, his harmonics betraying his want for her to stay, though more along the lines of simply looking out for her than anything. She looked so much less than who he remembered, but still the fighter she had been in the same instant. Her silence told him all he needed to hear, and he turned to watch her leaning against the wall near the door. The words she did give him though, they left a vice around his chest as he watched her.

“I never win, not really.”

Nodding his head, his mandibles drooping gently before snapping tightly as he made his decision, he strode over to her and carefully gripped her upper arm. “Come, sit. It does you more good than me.” Executor Pallin told her, motioning back toward the supposedly calming pond that had been added to his office months prior; he never found it soothing, but it didn't bother him either so he found no real want to have it removed.

It took her a few moments, but soon she followed when he gently pulled at her arm, guiding her to a chair that had been pulled up to the decoration. She sat in it uneasily, but after patting her shoulder an understanding passed between them, and she slumped into it easier.

“Do you have anyone you'd like me to call for you?” He asked, feeling that she may rather not but Pallin was well aware of her state of mind. They were not friends, nor enemies of course, but they had a simple understanding of convenience between them; she needed a place to duck for cover at times and he occasionally needed information she was happy to pass over.

Illegal? No. Unethical? Probably.

He nearly missed her request when she whispered, blinking rapidly and shaking himself mentally. “Could you call Garrus?” That surprised him, and he looked her over for a few seconds before nodding. That relationship he understood; compatriots in battle, friends during the lulls of bombs and bullets. But he didn't know they were friends enough that she would ask if he was able to take her to her apartment.

“Of course, Commander.” He said shortly, heading to take a seat behind his desk.

“Don't call me that.” She almost hissed out, making him pause and look at her again. There was no venom directed at him, he could see, but the word of title and rank tasted bitter to her clearly.

“Alright, Shepard.” His words made her lift her gaze in a flicker of thanks, and he smiled to himself. They understood each other better than he had originally thought; he supposed being in positions as they were, holding moments of self loathing and bitterness, it shouldn't surprise him. Once seated, he sent a short message to his fellow Turian of the location of Shepard, asking that he join them at his earliest convenience; he didn't wait for a response as he focused his attention on a datapad he had been perusing before leaving to grab a late lunch.

“It doesn't get easier, does it?” She asked him, and he responded in kind.

“No. It gets harder.” The huff of a laugh she gave left their understanding running deeper for Pallin. “It does provide a place to fall back on, however.” He added, hearing the huff again in all its bitter resentment and hatred. The regret filtered through slower, in a hushed sob that he knew she was forcing back to its depths.

He said nothing though, falling back into the times he himself sat in exactly her position; as a Turian duty always came before all, and while this made decisions easier to make the aftermath was never as clean cut. “Grief is a messy thing, Shepard. Let it be just that.” He told her after a few minutes had passed. Those words had been told to him once, and he smiled to himself, ironically, as he recalled the reason.

When he turned to glance at her, she had her head in her hands and her shoulders shook, the grief tearing her apart leaving a grimace on what he could see of her face, teeth bared and hissing breaths being inhaled with a hiccuping shakiness. Rising from his desk he crouched before her, resting a three fingered hand on her shoulder compassionately.

A knock on his door made him look up, calling out for them to enter the room and revealing Garrus as he walked in worriedly. Seeing them his shoulders fell and Pallin saw the uneasiness that left the younger Turians mandibles fluttering. Nodding his head toward her, Garrus strode over and took Pallin’s place in front of the weeping woman, his hands resting on her knees rather than her shoulder the Executor noted.

“I'm sure you're aware of her pit fighting, Vakarian?” He asked, but the look of surprise as his blue marked face whipped to his left Pallin startled momentarily. “I guess not. There's a medkit under the desk over there. Use whatever you need.” He told him, eyes lingering on the woman as she turned away from Garrus.

Shame he understood as well. Mistakes made during the process of grieving, though he himself hadn't indulged in the underground world of pit fighting like she did. Oh no, his vice was much more expensive and left him nursing a hangover the next morning.

Garrus grabbed the medkit he spoke of and, after managing to pull her hand away from her face Pallin heard the sigh Garrus gave. Not exasperated or frustrated, not angry or disappointed. Just knowing. It seems he may have pinged the younger Turian wrong as well. He must be growing senile, missing how alike they were currently.

“This might hurt.” Garrus told her, but Shepard said nothing as the blue tape binding her fingers was pulled away as gently as he could manage. A rumble of a hiss escaped Garrus as the mangled heap of one finger, bent and broken in more places than he wanted to count, was revealed. The slash along the inside of her pointer finger bled sluggishly after removing the tape, but quickly applying medi-gel slowed it further until it sealed the slash completely. His ministrations moved to the gash at her cheek, and once that had been sealed he lifted her hand gently.

“This will hurt.” He told her softly, gripping her finger for a moment, allowing her to steel herself against the imminent pain, and jerking her finger to realign the bone and knuckle as it should be. She took it well, however, groaning briefly through clenched teeth as she clamped her eyes closed and held her breath for a few seconds. Splinting the finger quickly, he patted her leg as he turned his attention to the large bruise covering her eye, pressing his palm against her face as he huffed. “Pit fighting still hold the fascination you had?” He asked after settling his hands back on her knees. 

She gave him a small smile and he chuckled. “Of course it still does. Come on, let's get out of the Executor’s fringe before Udina finds out about your extracurricular activities. Thank you, Executor Pallin.” He said, standing and pulling her up with him gently.

“Of course, Vakarian, Shepard. My office is open when you feel the need to drop by at a later date.” He added with a straight face, feigning anger at being disrupted. “Give Udina my regards if you run into him.”


End file.
